Tuchanka: Preview
by SparkeyScene
Summary: The Krogan DMZ. Miles and miles of acrid air, wrecked buildings and sandstorms. The Asari raised the Krogan, the Salarians let the Krogans off their short leash and the Turians condemnded them. But that was just a video game... How wrong I was.


**Okay, this is that preview I promised. It's not too long, around 1400 words - which is way under my average chapter length at the minute. I know I keep deviating from the 'Just do Kids From Yesterday' thing but it's kinda related. I think I might end up doing an Avengers thing and adding characters from all of my individual stories into one. It'll be a LOOOOOONG time coming if I do but it might happen. Anyway, thanks for clicking on this, on with the show.**

**Tatty-Bye.**

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><p><strong>Tuchanka<strong>

The Krogan DMZ. Miles and miles of acrid air, wrecked buildings and sandstorms. The Asari had raised the Krogan from their self imposed nuclear winter - which was actually more like a nuclear summer - and brought them into the galactic society. It was the Salarians who let the Krogans off their short leash, sicing them on the Rachni and watching like it was some sick show. It was the Turians who condemned the Krogan to a slow and painful death, systematically wiping out their species with science.

Unfortunately that was all part of a video game, a fake universe created purely for entertainment purposes. How wrong that turned out to be...

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><p>It was cold in my home town; winter had come early and a thin powdery snow coated the ground. I would give anything for a bit of sun, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. I sat on the steps near my house, avoiding my parents and people in general and watching the snow fall around me. Light reflected from each flake, twinkling softly in the half light of the winter afternoon as my breath rose in front of my face in clouds.<p>

I took time to imagine I was in the Mass Effect universe; comfortable and warm with the Krogan on Tuchanka, hunting Pyjaks and petting Varren. It wasn't going to happen, but I allowed myself a little positive thinking.

"Hey freak!"

I cringed at a yell from across the road. I knew who it was, the guy and his friends had been kicking my ass good and proper for the past two years. Recently it had been getting worse but I didn't care, it was a welcome distraction from the stuff I had to deal with at home.

"I'm not. No. I'm. Not." I muttered, reminding myself of The Joker as I stood and faced the group down, knowing I wasn't going to make it out unscathed.

Before I could even say another word he was across the street, the front of my shirt bunched in his fist. The opposite fist connected solidly with my jaw, knocking me back a little. Through the daze I managed to duck around his next punch before hitting him back. My knee connected with his groin, then his nose as he buckled over. His feet crumpled beneath him, leaving him a whimpering heap on the floor. It wasn't the first time I'd knocked him down, far from it, but every time his group came for me. This time was no different.

Seven of them crowded around, jeering about being able to kill me if they wanted. I didn't care, I no longer had any fear of dying. That had left me at an unspecified time in my blurry past.

I smirked, a real Joe Liebgott smirk, the kind that says 'you're persecuting me so I'm gonna kill every last one of you'. None of them seemed to realise what was happening, they were too busy making eyes at eachother. Passing messages. One pair of eyes turned to me and I knew it was time. I readied up, planting my feet firmly and letting my arms fall loosely to my sides. I had the distinct feeling things were going to get messy.

I was right. I realised this when I found a rather large knife in my face. Evidently they'd had enough of simply beating the shit out of me. I looked at the guy carrying the knife, watching him closely. I wasn't ready for this kind of thing, I didn't know how to fight well enough to be dodging a knife. Then again, if I didn't try they'd probably gut me, just like in all of those gory slasher movies. I doubted they had the stomach for it, but I wasn't eager to test that theory.

He swung the knife and I ducked, he swung the back edge and I ducked. He clearly didn't know how to use it, I could probably use that to my advantage. He aimed for another stab and I spun around, catching his wrist and twisting until he dropped the knife. Which fell into my hand. It was a hunting knife, with big gutting hooks on the back, the kind that said 'I'm prepared to drag my enemy's entrails through an open gut wound'. You can tell a lot about a person from the knife they chose, according to an old book I read. This knife tells me that this kid is compensating for something.

I switch the knife around in my palm on instinct, flipping it so it was ready for a slash across someone's abdomen as a warning. I had no idea where these moves were coming from so I just ran with it, hoping they'd get me out with my life. A fist crashed towards me and I ducked, swiping the knife close enough to cut the duffel coat of the perpetrator. Feathers leaked out onto the ground, mingling with the snow and ice to make a strange feather soup underfoot. I flipped the knife around and jabbed backwards, catching one of the group across the cheek. Blood leaked down his cheek, causing me to smile as he raised his fingers to the wound.

"You little..." he jumped towards me, fist outstretched. I backed away and walked straight into another member of the group, who grabbed me and laced his fingers around my waist. The knife hung, useless at my side. I couldn't even move as the entire gang started laying into me. By the time I got a break to breathe, all I could see was red. That wasn't because I was angry, I had blood in my eyes. It was driving me crazy, itching. At the moment, the pain wasn't bothering me. It was so cold I barely felt anything, I was more worried about hte fact that the knife was gone from my hand and was now, once again, in the hand of the de fecto leader of the group - the **actual** leader still hadn't managed to pull himself up from where I left him.

The pain was strange, it was just like being puched but warmer, and there was more blood. I couldn't care less as black encroached on my vision and I passed out in the snow. No doubt my mother would find me, frozen like a corpse in Bastogne. Not that she'd be bothered or anything...

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><p>Warmth. Finally, the sun was out. It was a little smoggy but that didn't matter, the snow had finally gone and summer was here. Pulling myself up from where I lay I found I was on the ground behind a tattered barrier. It looked oddly familiar but I payed it no heed, instead pulling myself up to my feet and wandering around trying to figure out where in the hell I was. There was an odd smell in the air, it smelled dusty and everything was the colour of sand and rust; metal bars protruded from the ground randomly, evidence of structures having been present at one time. I heard voices somewhere and rounded a corner to see a strange pit... with two Varren in it.<p>

Varren?

What in the hell was going on!

Looking up to my left I saw something that nearly knocked me back to the floor. Sat on a rock throne, in furious conversation with Gatatog Uvenk, was Urdnot Wrex. I was in the Urdnot camp, somewhere between Mass Effect 1 and 2 judging by the fact that Wrex is sat on the throne and not Wreav, his brother.

"Oh shit..."


End file.
